🌸Chapter 17: The Silent Type
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Qi Ye was sunk deep into the sofa, sleeping far more soundly than he had the night before. The thick fleece blanket was pulled all the way up to his chin, leaving only half his face exposed.
The exhaustion from the hangover, combined with the comfort of two bowls of steaming hot porridge, had finally pressed him into real sleep.
In the kitchen, the enamel pot that had been simmering over low heat was already cold. The lingering aroma of rice mixed with the fresh scent of lemon water, drifting faintly through the air.
Cheng Shubai stood at the stove, already dressed in a new, perfectly pressed dark suit without a single wrinkle. He was carefully transferring the last of the cooled porridge into a high-quality double-layer glass thermal lunch box.
His movements were light, almost silent.
After sealing the lunch box, he walked to the fridge and opened the door. The leftover meat floss and pickled vegetables from last night had been neatly stored in small containers.
Cheng Shubai took them out and placed them together with the porridge lunch box into a dark grey insulated bag. Beside it, he added a bottle of room-temperature mineral water and a strip of hangover medication.
When everything was ready, he carried the bag to the sofa.
Qi Ye was still fast asleep. His breathing was steady and long, the usual sharp irritation between his brows softened into rare calmness.
Cheng Shubai looked at him for a few seconds, his gaze passing over Qi Ye’s slightly reddened cheek pressed against the blanket. Then he placed the insulated bag gently but firmly on the coffee table beside the sofa, right next to Qi Ye’s phone.
Easy to see. Easy to reach.
He straightened up, took one last look at the sleeping man, and then turned toward the entrance without hesitation.
His footsteps were almost completely silent, softened by the carpet. The fingerprint lock gave a faint click. The heavy door closed without sound, separating the inside from the outside world.
Qi Ye was woken by a continuous ringing at the door.
Not the soft buzz of the video intercom, but an old mechanical doorbell that rang sharply and persistently.
“Ding dong— Ding dong”
It was relentless, like it was trying to punch straight through the door.
“Fuck…” Qi Ye frowned, struggling out of deep sleep. His head felt like it was filled with lead.
He threw off the blanket and sat up. The hangover pain came roaring back, temples throbbing violently. Rubbing his forehead, he glanced around the empty living room, then noticed the dark grey insulated bag on the coffee table.
He froze for a second.
Fragments of last night returned in pieces: lemon water, porridge, meat floss, pickled vegetables… and Cheng Shubai’s expressionless face, quietly arranging everything for him.
The doorbell kept ringing.
“Coming! Are you trying to kill someone?!” Qi Ye shouted hoarsely.
He shuffled to the door, still groggy. As he passed the coffee table, he grabbed the insulated bag instinctively.
His stomach was empty. Whatever it was, it mattered more than the doorbell.
Without even checking the peephole, he yanked the door open.
Standing outside was not a property manager or courier.
A young man leaned casually against the doorframe. He wore a loose tie-dye T-shirt, ripped jeans, and a huge canvas bag slung over his shoulder.
His hair was dyed a striking silver-grey with streaks of bright blue. Retro round sunglasses covered half his face. One hand was in his pocket, the other lazily pressing the doorbell again and again.
When the door opened, he tilted his chin up slowly. The sunglasses slid down his nose, revealing bright, amused eyes.
His gaze swept over Qi Ye’s messy hair, wrinkled clothes, and clearly hungover expression. Then he grinned.
“Yo,” he drawled, voice light and teasing. “Mr Qi? Just got off a construction site… or did the construction site reject you?”
Qi Ye froze.
Then his expression shifted rapidly from irritation to shock to embarrassed anger.
“Qi Lang?!” he blurted. “Where the hell did you come from?!”
The man outside was Qi Lang, his closest friend from high school. The kind of friend you could share one pair of pants with and still think it was too loose.
They had gone their separate ways after university, one working in cutting-edge art curation abroad, the other in domestic design circles. They didn’t talk often anymore, but the familiarity remained deeply rooted.
“Surprise? Shocked?” Qi Lang laughed as he pushed past Qi Ye into the apartment. “I flew back last night. First stop? You, of course.”
He kicked off his shoes casually and stepped barefoot onto the floor, scanning the minimalist luxury apartment.
“Wow, Mr Qi,” he whistled. “Living well. So this is what being a client king looks like. Got yourself a sugar daddy?”
“Get lost,” Qi Ye muttered, closing the door behind him.
Qi Lang flopped into a single armchair, letting out a satisfied sigh. Then he grabbed the lemon water on the table and drank it without hesitation.
Qi Ye watched him, annoyed. “That’s mine.”
“Not anymore,” Qi Lang said cheerfully. “So, what’s the situation? I heard from your assistant. You got picked up by Mr. Cheng because you were ‘unwell’? Wow, Mr. Cheng… is that the same Cheng Shubai from school? The competitive genius you used to fight with every time you met?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Reunited lovers? Living together? This is getting interesting.”
“Bullshit. Temporary stay,” Qi Ye snapped, ears slightly warm. “And I wasn’t sick. I just drank too much.”
“Sure, sure,” Qi Lang said, clearly not believing him.
Then his eyes landed on the insulated bag.
“Oh? Breakfast?” He grabbed it before Qi Ye could stop him. “Let me see, let me see. What does a CEO-level breakfast look like?”
“Hey—!”
Too late. Qi Lang was already opening it.
Inside was a glass lunch box filled with thick white porridge, topped with golden meat floss. Separate compartments held glossy pickled vegetables and peeled boiled eggs. A small bottle of sesame oil and a strip of medication sat beside it.
Simple, but unmistakably thoughtful.
Qi Ye stared at it for a moment, throat tightening slightly, then grabbed the spoon and started eating without thinking.
Qi Lang leaned against the sofa, watching with amusement.
“You’re seriously easy to feed,” he teased. “A bowl of porridge and you’re tamed? Where’s that fierce attitude of yours?”
“Shut up,” Qi Ye muttered between bites.
Qi Lang leaned closer. “Seriously though, what’s going on between you and Cheng Shubai? Back in school you two couldn’t stand each other. Now you’re living under the same roof and he’s making you breakfast?”
Before Qi Ye could answer, the front door opened again.
Both of them looked up.
Cheng Shubai stood at the entrance.
Same perfectly pressed suit. Same calm, unreadable expression. In his hand was a paper bag from a well-known Cantonese tea restaurant.
His gaze swept across the room.
Qi Ye holding a porridge container, lips still stained with meat floss crumbs.Qi Lang leaning in too close, practically on the sofa.
Something in his eyes paused for the briefest moment.
Then it disappeared.
He stepped inside.
Placed the tea bag on the coffee table.
And said evenly,
“I brought breakfast from a tea house.”
He paused.
His gaze landed briefly on the crumbs at Qi Ye’s lips.
“Yours got cold,” he added calmly. “Eat this instead.”
I will be posting two chapters every Sunday and Wednesday.
(My translation is far from perfect, so if you see any mistakes please let me know in the comments)
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